


Essenial Guide to Lasting Pain Relief

by crowry



Series: WRECK VALLEY Vol II [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Painkillers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowry/pseuds/crowry
Summary: Juno will try anything once, but Nureyev will try anything with Juno. Or: Juno takes an aphrodisiac on accident, and Nureyev takes one on purpose.





	Essenial Guide to Lasting Pain Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Title is [a horse_ebooks tweet](https://twitter.com/Horse_ebooks/status/380197946068725760). I know it is misspelled but I will not adulterate the words of horse_ebooks. This is the first of my Kinktober prompts, though I won't be posting every day.

They’re right next to each other in Juno’s overfilled disaster of a medicine cabinet, or maybe he’s just not reading things right—he did get hit in the head pretty hard by that thug from M-Corp Security—but his ribs and his spine and his shoulder are killing him, so he grabs the “VERY STRONG, Juno! Save it for a rainy day!” pills Julian had sent him forever ago, and fumbles it and a couple other vials into the sink. His hand is throbbing from all the punching. Turns out you can only smash your knuckles into so many muscle-bound freaks and their stupidly hard skulls before it starts to fuck up your own body.

Swearing, he dumps one of the painkillers into his hand, throws it back, and washes it down with a handful of water from the tap.

He’s not stellar at self care, okay, so what, but he’s also not an idiot. He’s gotten walloped by enough goons to know that if it hurts this bad today, it’s going to immobilize him tomorrow. So he gets in the shower and lets the icy water pummel him, then gets the heated blanket, and the icepacks from the freezer. He’ll probably fall asleep before he remembers to change the ice for heat, but hopefully by then the painkiller will kick in. 

Only, it’s not the painkiller. 

Julian has sent him a good number of THANK YOU, JUNO DARLING samples, ranging from scar erasing cremes to 72-hour-energy drinks to sleeping pills that worked the moment they touched his tongue and kept him asleep for three days. He starts to suspect it might not have been the painkillers as he’s shifting around in the dark, trying to find a way to lay in his bed that keeps the heat firm on all the seizing, stiffening muscles and bruises, and he feels something languid and tingly begin to spread through him. 

He’s half hard by the time he thinks to check the damn pill bottle. Something is fogging his mind, and he doesn’t think it's a concussion. He could be wrong, of course, but this doesn’t feel like that fog so much as it feels like… something even more familiar.

Not painkillers. Something called Pearls of Venus. The harsh light of his bathroom pounds in his head as he stares at the label, the little handwritten "XOXO" Julian wrote to be cute. There’s one left in the vial, round and pink and the size of a pea, and when Juno hobbles back to his bed and looks it up on his comms, he groans. 

Of course. Of fucking course. It’s only an aphrodisiac that usually costs more than a week of Juno’s hourly rate. Of course Julian would think it was a really fun gift, sending him something like this. Juno will try anything once, but Julian will try anything if it might feel good. He doesn’t even remember _when_ Julian sent this one in particular. It’s not like he checks them, anyway, usually just chucks them in the medicine cabinet and forgets about them. 

The drug curls through him like foreplay, like Nureyev’s light touch and sweet, hoarse whispers, and Juno suddenly can’t keep his hands off himself. It might not be a painkiller but he barely notices the throb of his bruised shoulders. His own touch seems so intense, he’s dazed with it, the feel of hands he knows are his own but it doesn’t _feel_ like they’re his. 

Time gets sticky, and his brain clouds even more. He feels post orgasmic and light and heavy all the same, his limbs sated and hungry, his cock hard in his hand, and he doesn't realize he's made a call until he hears Nureyev on the other end of the phone.

"Juno?" he's saying, "Juno, what is it?"

"Nureyev!" he says, surprised. And then because it seems very important, "I closed the case. I got 'em."

"Well done, detective," Nureyev says. "And you called to, what? Boast? Invite me to celebrate?" 

Juno forgets to answer, preoccupied by the throaty sound of Nureyev's voice, the memory of his long fingers and careful lips and sharp, beautiful teeth. Nureyev is quiet on the line, listening intently, but Juno hardly notices. His energy is focused on the sound of his even breaths and the feel of his own, foreign-feeling fingers on his dick. 

Nureyev is gone for weeks at a time, doing who knows what, who knows where. Gliding through the galaxy on a never-ending train of fake identities, tenuous connections, and contacts who only know his reputation. And Juno keeps busy, he does. He's got his detective work, he's got his city and he's got Rita. 

And when Nureyev gets near enough, he comes to Mars. He takes whatever small jobs he can on the planet—here, the theft of an ancient sculpture; there, a week of espionage in Hesperia. All the while, Juno misses him. Like he missed his eye after he first lost it, or Sasha when they fell out. He's not used to missing things he'll get again, though, so by the time he lets himself think about it, lets himself touch the edges of the wound that is Peter Nureyev's absence, he's back. 

His muscles are sore from the fight and sore from the tension he carries every day of his life, sore from age, and right now they're sore as he twists, writhing on his bed and thinking about Nureyev and his spiced cologne, his firm grip when he pulls Juno in for a kiss, his smile. 

He barely hears the door click open.

"Oh," Nureyev says, standing at his bedside in—is that a cabbie's uniform? "This isn't precisely what I meant by 'celebration,' Juno, but I won't complain." He crawls onto the bed and immediately sticks his knee in the damp and freezing ice pack, makes a noise of disgust, and sits back on his heels.

It's only been two weeks since he saw Nureyev, and maybe it's the Pearls fucking with him, but the sight of him bathed in the neon of Hyperion City's nightlife shining dimly through his apartment window, long legs folded under him and looking expectant, is like a dream. Until he turns on Juno's bedside lamp. Juno watches his eyes wandering the expanse of his body, laid out and pliant on the bed, and feels like his blood has been replaced with lava, or bourbon.

"Maybe you should tell me a little more about that case of yours," Nureyev says. 

*

"Oh, Juno," is all Nureyev can say, smiling like he can not only believe it but should have known this was inevitable. Juno feels so warm and ready and he wants Nureyev so badly, but the longer he's upright and in pain the more his head clears, and the thrum of the Pearls becomes secondary.

Nureyev is in the bathroom, vial of pills in one hand and Juno's comms in the other, checking and cross checking interactions and side effects. Juno finds himself spacing out, rubbing himself as he leans against the doorframe, until Nureyev hands him a glass of water. 

"I have a proposition for you," he says. When Juno just raises his eyebrows, he continues, holding up a blue oblong pill. "You take this, which is the painkiller I believe you were after to begin with, and I take this."

He holds up the remaining Pearl of Venus.

And really, how can Juno resist an offer like that? 

They don't wait for the painkillers to kick in. Nureyev crowds Juno against the edge of the bed until he's on top of him, nudges both the heating pad and the ice packs off the bed with his knee, and kicks off his heels. It's not like they haven't had sex like this before, but he knows exactly how Nureyev feels, panting and squirming on top of him. 

It's all hands, everywhere, and hotter than usual. It's Nureyev whispering _I want, I want, I want_ , and Juno agreeing before he even hears the rest. It's Nureyev's mouth on his, pulling his lips into his own mouth, the punctuation of his sharp teeth in the constant contact of their mouths. And Juno, well—he's never quiet, but he just doesn't have space in him right now, what with all the _wanting_ , to hold in the sounds. 

And when Nureyev's hand finally wraps around the both of them, Juno's body reaches boiling point. It doesn't stop, of course, and Juno can barely feel the ache of his muscles anymore, the tenderness of his body replaced by arousal and pleasure and _fullness_ as Nureyev fucks him into the bed. 

He doesn't know how long it takes, only that it's still dark, but when the Pearl wears off it's startlingly abrupt. One minutes he's sucking Nureyev off like it's his last meal, rutting against his teasing foot, and the next he's coming but the heat is just gone. 

Nureyev, though. In the nearly two years they've been doing—whatever they do, Juno has rarely seen Nureyev come apart at all. And now he's splayed on Juno's bed, whispering Juno's name in a steady stream, interrupted only by aborted declarations of—well. 

Juno may have come, but Nureyev is still hard and desperate, pulling on his dick with one hand and rubbing Juno's chest with the other, as if they bring him equal pleasure. As the fog of the drug recedes completely, Juno realizes that he is going to be so, so fucked tomorrow, figuratively speaking. He has an idea of what kind of toll their activity takes on his ageing body on a good day, and today has not been a _good day_. It was actually completely lousy before Nureyev showed up, even with the job concluded.

And Juno knows, he knows this is going to kill him whenever Saffron's miracle pill wears off, but Peter Nureyev is just such a tempting picture.

"Juno," he says, "Juno, Juno," as if it's his favorite word in the world, so what the hell. 

Juno climbs back on top of him, whispering, "Yeah, I'm here," and even without the Pearl of Venus he feels unmade at the way Nureyev clutches at him, needy and bare, and absolutely _gone_ in the tide of arousal and love. 

*

Morning hits him like an unexpected camera flash, searing his eyes and waking up what promises to be a real doozy of a headache, and when he turns his head to check if Nureyev is there, it twinges like it's been freshly punched along with the rest of him. 

But Nureyev _is_ there, propped up against the pilling headboard and painting his nails. There's bite marks on his shoulders and around his nipples and probably in a lot of other places too, and Juno feels himself go pleasantly hot again, remembering just how much they got up to last night. He hauls himself upright, groaning, trying to massage his own battered neck and shoulders with his aching hands. 

"Good morning, Juno," Nureyev says. His voice sounds a little hoarser than usual, but they did uh. Get pretty vocal last night.

There's a lot of questions he wants to ask—when did they finally fall asleep? What time is it? How soon can he take something else? Because really, he knew last night he was gonna feel it in the morning, but this is excessive. What comes out is: "You sticking around?"

"Oh, detective," Nureyev leans over to kiss his throbbing head. "I'm going to do better than that."

He hands Juno something from the bedside table: another painkiller. A glass of water, too, and when he's satisfied Juno has swallowed the pill, he gets out of bed and plants another kiss at his hairline, and with his mouth there, close and sweet, his hands braced on either side of Juno's hips, he whispers, "I'm going to take care of you."


End file.
